A Glimpse of the Dark Side: Adult Paranormal Erotic Romance Collection Read online

  Once more, the people who knew The Game froze.

  It clearly was the most intriguing thing that had happened since the game started nearly three years before, when Ralph had first arrived.

  Like an automaton, Barry jerked his other thumb in the other direction and around the corner to a door just to the side of the bar, where all the liquor, beer, and soft drinks were stocked.

  Ralph was acutely aware of her warm presence. He couldn't figure her out and was, for the first time, uncertain of anyone.

  That had never happened to him.

  She grabbed the bewildered Ralph by the arm, spinning him around as she dragged him behind her and inside the back room, and slammed the door.

  ALL THE "GAMERS" and betters and wannabe players kept an eye on that side door marked private, until the girl reappeared a little over ten minutes later, every hair in place but smoothing her dress over her curves and strolled back towards her table like nothing happened.

  "She's flushed, right? Or blushing, maybe?" a voice or two ventured, as all waited for...

  ...Ralph, who emerged shortly after that with confusion carved deeply into the stressed and strained expression on his face, his hair askew. His clothes were a bit disheveled, too. And, his belt was undone, for one thing; leaving no question about what happened.

  Right?

  Everyone's face screwed up and shoulders shrugged, because the gamers and betters didn't have an ironclad, clear decision. Their reigning king reseated himself on his customary stool and continued to drink.

  Hmm. He looked like he'd just been turned down.

  Everyone was confused. Ralph most among them, evidently. For many minutes he just sat and stared at his beer bottle intently. Although his attitude was intriguing, no one bothered him, not even Barry.

  Heads swiveled from Ralph to the girl and back.

  Rejection, Barry supposed, could damage even the sturdiest of all constitutions. Ralph got shot down, right?

  Ralph had obviously gotten the girl, but he'd also been rejected earlier, and a homerun-a full goal taken-was required to win. Barry subconsciously gave his winnings another nervous pat. There were bets in limbo all over that club.

  Suddenly, the dark-haired girl-Ralph's Brunette or, well, she was really proving not to be his - she walked towards Ralph once more and leaned to whisper intimately in his ear. One word unheard by all, except him.

  "Come."

  Their King Ralph stood, like someone in a trance. He didn't look around, just headed straight for the door, the girl dragging him by the hand behind her, like a cotton-brained teddy bear.

  Barry cursed, "Fuck!"

  Someone shouted, "Hey! Did I win the bet?"

  What was the bet, anymore?

  For Ralph, it'd always been getting countless women to dance and sing out their song but at his own measured rhythm and masterful tempo, to cum when Ralph wanted them to, as they put themselves in his hands and, so to speak, as he also relieved his masculine yearning for the female, before slipping out to go his own way.

  Alone.

  Briefly coming together to cum together, making each feel like he was part of them, even that they'd won because she-whoever she was, briefly-had felt that with Ralph, she and he were one. That she'd found The One.

  But, she hadn't, because always, from Ralph's view, there was a feeling of distinctness and of being apart. A little beside himself. Out of body almost.

  No, he never felt like he was The One. Or as one, either.

  No wonder he was bored to the core of his soul. Indeed, what was winning??

  Chapter Ten

  CONTRARY TO WHAT his subjects would have thought, their invincible King Ralph would find the next two weeks passing in agonizing slow motion, like a snail gingerly trying to cross razor blade edges. Well, that wasn't boring, because it was a completely novel experience for him!

  Although that didn't make it enjoyable.

  He'd left with the stunning Brunette or, more precisely, she'd left with him in tow, keeping him uncertain where she was taking him, physically, emotionally or erotically. His life and hers had touched, intimately, briefly, and now he was left stranded in the middle of a wind tossed ocean. Unbalanced, without true bearings, unable to find his destination.

  Not that he was any long certain what that might be.

  Anyway, since then, his amazing time with her clearly hadn't been so magical for her. He hadn't proven to be her new god. It completely hadn't worked out the way he'd wanted. Going "back for seconds" was something he never did, because he'd always controlled each entire encounter. Always.

  He'd never call them, either, no matter how enjoyable his time with a woman had been. Ralph didn't want a permanent thing. He knew each woman would want more from him than he could give her, and want him to fix things in them and in their lives that they should be fixing and controlling themselves.

  "That's how lies and arguments get started," his grand uncle Bob used to say.

  Ralph smirked at that and at his own situation.

  Because a man can't be a new god to a woman every moment of the day and night, when she doesn't need him to even be just her part-time hero, as their aging relationship devolves into her screeching red-faced at him to make himself "useful and go throw another laundry load in the machine!"

  So, Ralph kept his encounters brief and fully within his control. But, oddly, and he didn't know why, he hadn't been and still wasn't in control this time, not even a little bit, not with this gorgeous Brunette.

  She was his new goddess. She'd fulfilled dreams he hadn't really known he'd had. She'd made him happy, y'know, the kind with shiny, delicate bubbles followed by being distraught with the worry that she would never have him. She would never own him.

  Because after that night...

  The bitch never called! And he ached for her to. He restlessly waited, yes, actually waited for this remarkable nameless woman, and even kind of pined for her to call and say she wanted round two, seconds, more of him, more time with him.

  He tried being clever and proactive by doing a reverse listing search online but only narrowed it to her apartment building, in general, not the actual apartment detail, in order to learn her name and get her phone number.

  The control was all hers. She had his number and name. He had nothing, not even one hang up. He laughed bitterly every time he thought that she'd probably deleted his numbers from her phone list before he'd reached her apartment elevator's exit.

  Ralph sighed - he wasn't a man who sighed! Ralph sighed, again, while discovering something utterly new to him.

  Losing.

  He'd won the bet even when he paid the money-all of them knew it that night she dragged him out of the bar to her apartment and her sofa. But, he'd lost his inner bet after he'd left her apartment, glowing like a beacon, after he realized what was really on the line.

  Losing was definitely a novel concept and reality for him, losing what control he'd always had.

  Hell, was he losing himself not just to a girl he might never see again, let alone touch. But to drowning in his sensitive and precious memories of that night

  This perplexing, puzzling, enigmatic - yes, Ralph knew they all described the same thing - feeling. For the most part, it was how he felt and he couldn't find the precise word, if there was one! For the umpteenth time, he remembered what happened that night as if it happened just a moment ago...

  THE BRUNETTE'S fat-cushioned, antique Cleopatra sofa was the large centerpiece of her little kitchenette apartment. Everything was in view except her bed peeking out behind a four-paneled room divider. At the rate they were going they would never make it across the tiny apartment for that.

  Naturally, that was where they were originally headed, clothes dropping as they went, with urgency making the sofa their immediate final destination.

  He was so astonished. Whenever he touched her skin it felt light, almost delicate, and entrancingly smooth. Her bra was slipped off three feet from the sofa, her dress already unzip
ped and hanging from her hips.

  Ralph's shirt was hanging open and loose from his shoulder as he paused, stunned.

  "Your breasts are amazing."

  Though it was darker here farther from the lamp, the curves of her bosom caught the light in a manner that gave the impression that they were very plump and well-rounded pair of luscious, beautiful breasts.

  She pushed a little and her dress fell to collect at her feet, leaving her in skimpy thong panties. He remembered so well the thigh-high stockings before she commanded his attention by slowly sitting on the sofa, her brilliant dark eyes tilted up to him, expectant, willing, wanting.

  He felt his heart stop beating, literally, as his breath ran away from him.

  Who is this woman?!

  Ralph shook his head a bit. This, right here, with her, in her home, was completely different from what had happened in Barry's back room. Because, when she had pulled him inside the club's main bar's storage room, she'd been completely intent on only one thing - her own pleasure. And him servicing that pleasure.

  Or were those two things? He wasn't certain.

  This woman was short-circuiting his brain, and other parts as well.

  ALMOST AN hour ago, she'd locked them in Barry's back room and pushed him down to sit on an enclosed beer shipping box before hoisting her skirt up, exposing him to an extraordinary sight and scent, as she'd tugged her thong to the side, presenting the fragrant spread of her sex directly to his face.

  Ralph's boredom left instantly, like a light switch had been flicked. This unpredictable girl already had his hardening member thickening and lengthening and becoming uncomfortable in its suddenly restricting confinement, especially with a hard case of beer under his ass.

  Remember Lyda?

  Lyda who?

  Ralph had a hard-on. A full one. That hadn't happened for a long time with any of the other women.

  He tried to rise but she shoved him back down and threw one lovely thigh over his shoulder.

  "Eat me, lick me. Make me cum."

  Then, she stared down at him like some horny, regal queen waiting for him to serve her pleasure on the tip of his tongue.

  Ralph had frowned quizzically, because he loved diving face first into a hot, juicy muff: but not while being bossed around by a ridiculously hot woman. He was usually the boss of any hookup.

  But, this girl was a hot, confusing enigma, unlike any woman he'd been with. She had no reservations! This one he couldn't fully read. He didn't know what her fantasies were, where all her desires were, if she'd had a questionable sexual past or too many lovers that might warrant a rubber or-?

  What the fucking hell? She made him truly feel invincible - because she'd chosen him. Plus, he wanted to do it. He wanted to taste her. Hell, his cock and balls were demanding he get down to business, so they could, too; they'd been without and uninterested for far too long. Here was someone worthy of their complete attention.

  He did exactly what she wanted him to do. Hell, he'd kneel, crawl, and give her lip service however she wanted it. Then, he'd get what he wanted, well, more of what he wanted.

  "Yes, there and there," she'd purred. "No. Not there. Oh! Yessss...!"

  She was amazing - the salty taste of her, her heated scent, how she watered in his mouth. Plus, he really couldn't read her, now that was a complete surprise. She was a complete surprise. Then she wiggled and wiggled, abruptly stiffened, then popped and like sweet champagne she poured delicious sweetness into his eager mouth.

  I'm next.

  But, once done and catching her breath, with both feet back firmly on the floor, she casually rearranged the thong, straightened her dress, then turned on her heel and abandoned him in a full chubby! She hadn't even reciprocated Ralph's efforts, not by giving him a hand, as he had to pace around and walk it off, waiting for his hysterical crotch to relax.

  Then he'd fumbled with his belt, only remembering it after hearing it jingle, and had gone back out to the bar, and a hundred eyes.

  The horny, selfish bitch just left me!

  His world had just shifted. Ralph had stumbled out of the storage room feeling like his mind had been blown to bits. completely fragged by a grenade.

  That was then, back at the club.

  Now, in her own space, this dark-haired beauty was the exact opposite...

  ***

  Next Book in the Wild Hearts Series:

  HIS GIFTED HANDS

  In finding each other, Ralph and Alice found the thing they have been seeking without thought - purpose, salvation... love.

  From the moment of seeing her, Ralph was able to sense something in her. His gift, that which can manipulate life in the expense of his own, feels the darkness enveloping her life source. It is consuming her, like wood exposed on flaming fire. And he has a way to help her subdue it.

  Ralph has the unique gift of the healing touch and for days, he took her pain and made it his own without Alice even knowing. But for how long can he do this? How long can he give her? Will Alice find out before it is too late?

  ***

  Seeing is Believing: The Whispering 1

  by Eden Laroux

  ***

  Chapter One

  "WE'RE ALMOST THERE," Meg announced.

  The sullen boy next to her said nothing. Instead he looked down at the floor of the beat-up station wagon, clearly lost in his thoughts. From time to time, his hands would clench within the sleeves of his grey, long-sleeved sweatshirt, a habit Meg had noticed since the first time she saw the boy.

  At first glance she knew that she was looking at a boy who had seen too much of the dark side of life far too soon. His brown eyes would always have a hint of a deeper sadness. Sad to say, it was a look that Meg had seen in a few other children she had fostered. And every time she saw it she could feel her rage rise to her chest as if it were a form of heartburn.

  How anyone could hurt their own child physically and emotionally on a weekly basis was a mystery Meg would never ever figure out. A part of her didn't want to solve it. To solve would be to understand, and to understand could lead to a form of sympathy. Monsters don't deserve sympathy.

  The boy's name was Tony. He was a sweet boy and like every victim of abuse he would be an emotional wreck for a long time. So the silence that was only broken by the occasional question Meg would ask Tony was a part of the drive that one couldn't ignore.

  "Tony, you must be really warm wearing that sweatshirt in this heat," she said.

  "I'm fine," Tony said, his brown eyes still cast down.

  Meg knew that wasn't so. The inside of the vehicle was oppressively hot due to the summer heat. Even with the windows down. She wished she had made that appointment to fix the air conditioner in the vehicle before heading down to pick Tony up. The poor boy didn't need heat stroke added to his list of problems.

  She wouldn't push him to remove the sweatshirt though. Clearly it was a form of personal protection to the thirteen-year-old.

  Turning all thoughts away from the short conversation, Meg searched her mind for a safe topic of conversation that would interest Tony enough that he would want to engage in it.

  "I heard you like to draw."

  From what she knew of Tony, that comment was true. His teachers had commented on his love for the art form. They also noted the quality of his work when they would catch him drawing in the middle of class. Something the teachers noted with more amusement than contempt.

  "Yeah. But I don't think I'm very good," Tony said.

  "Bullshit."

  Meg did not hear that remark. However, Tony heard it and frowned at the spot next to him.

  "It's true."

  Of course Meg noted that Tony was focused on the empty area of the backseat with a look that suggested he thought someone was there. She had been informed of Tony's coping mechanism in the form of an imaginary friend named Bruce. Of course, it was being addressed by a psychiatrist. But as long as the imaginary friend wasn't causing any problematic behavior, Meg wasn't going to say to
o much on the subject.

  If Meg could see the imaginary friend, she would have seen a man in his thirties with scruffy, black hair and wearing a pair of reading glasses that were so large they looked comical. His green eyes had a spark of humor to them. It matched the look about him that suggested a smile could break out onto his face at any moment.

  The imaginary friend's limbs were falling asleep, by then. He complained about this condition frequently.

  "Are we there yet?" Bruce asked.

  Tony attempted to hold back a laugh but failed. Even though Meg didn't hear the joke, she did allow a small smile to come to her lips. At least the young man could still laugh every now and then. For a while, Meg let Tony talk on as she enjoyed the breeze blowing through her almond brown hair.

  The moment of serenity ended too soon. Meg almost didn't want to say anything even as the pale yellow house came into view.

  "Oh, look! We're here."

  She drove up the gravel driveway before parking at the foot of the crab apple tree that was in bloom. A former foster child had dubbed the tree "Oscar" and, since then, that was what Meg called it.

  The home itself wasn't something too special. Meg could afford a fancier one, but the three-bedroom house was all she felt she needed. She had gotten it for a fair price due to an uncle's connections in the real estate business. While a bit of a fixer-upper at the time of sale, it was still very much a good deal. Unless she needed it badly, almost all her funds were devoted to the care of her foster children. Deals were something she kept an eye out for because of that.

  With the engine cut off, there was another degree to the silence that had dominated the trip here. Bruce took that moment to say something.

  "Finally! I thought for a moment maybe she got lost and we were going to someplace like India," Bruce commented.

  "You would have to cross the ocean for that to happen," Tony replied.